Pulse
by alsace.salome
Summary: Tucked away in Salem Center, New York, is Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, an oasis in the desert of prejudice and dysfunction, but it takes a new addition to the mix for everyone to see how fragile the peace in the mansion really is.


_Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep..._

Harsh artificial light pierced through barely open eyelids, and cotton bathed her back. Was she against a wall? No, she lay on a bed. She tried to lift her arm, but a cluster of IVs restrained her, and a network of wires prevented her from frowning at her position properly. The light came from a row of ceiling fixtures that extended past her toes, and it illuminated the large, relatively empty room. The walls were almost metallic and reflected the other beds in the space, the cabinets filled with gauze and prescription medication, and the arsenal of machines that she was hooked up to. The mirror effect was nearly dizzying.

_Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep..._

As she lay there, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a woman near the door, and wasn't sure if the woman had just entered or if she had been there the whole time. The woman fully entered her field of vision, her rich burgundy hair and trim physique coming into focus. The woman leaned over the edge of the bed a bit, peering into her eyes.

_Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep..._

"Looks like you're awake now. How are you feeling?" The woman's voice sounded clear and confident. In her bed, she had to think of the answer. She tried to move her toes, and found that she couldn't.

"I...I...my legs are numb," she managed after she cleared her throat; in contrast, her own voice was scratchy from disuse.

"Right, I guess we can finally start lowering your dose of painkillers," the woman gave a small smile before turning to inspect and adjust the drip. "You've been going through these really quickly. I've had to send someone in here to switch them out every 3 hours."

_Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep..._

"What's that noise?" she raised her voice for the first time since she'd woken up. The incessant noise was grating her, like she could have been listening to it for hours or days or years.

"That's your heart monitor. You've got quite the ticker in you," the woman replied as she continued checking the other machines.

"What...? What's happened to me?" her voice grew steadier. Almost instantly she began to regain feeling in her thighs. It was an intensely warm sensation that moved quickly down past her knees to her toes.

"You sustained deep lacerations and heavy bruises to your legs and midsection," still at work on the machines.

"Lacerations..." she echoed quietly as she tried to reclaim her memory. How had she gotten them?

_Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep..._

How had she gotten them?

_Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep..._

How had she gotten there? In that bed?

_Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep..._

In that room?

"No need to be nervous. You're safe here," the woman assured her.

"Where is here?" she began to prop herself up in the bed, and the woman rushed to help.

"You are at Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters in Salem Center, New York. One of the teachers here found you wounded and unconscious near the edge of the woods. He brought you back here and we immediately put you under medical surveillance," the woman finished, focusing her full attention on the conversation.

"Surveillance? Is this some sort of government hospital?" she had already begun to pull at some of the wires attached to her forehead in her bid to free herself. She was becoming increasingly aware of her surroundings. There was only one exit, the door that the woman had appeared next to, but she could make out vents when she squinted past the bright lights. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Cameras, could she see any cameras? Could they see her? "I've heard of these places. You'll-"

"No, no, no! This is not a government hospital. This is the doctor's office of a private boarding school. I promise I'm not here to hurt you," the woman held the patient's shoulders lightly, and her expression conveyed security. "I might even be able to help you." The woman certainly had a way with bedside manner.

"Aren't you already 'helping' me?" the patient said once her breathing slowed, still exceedingly skeptical of the woman.

"Well, yes, of course, but I think we can help you in other ways."

" 'We?' Who is-"

"I am Dr. Jean Grey, and I am the physician who has been attending to you since you arrived here. Now, I'm not sure if you know this but your body is different from other bodies. Are you hungry a lot?"

"Yes," the answer was wary and short, as she tried to settle down.

"Do you find that medicine doesn't work for you?"

"Yes," the interrogation was making her uneasy again.

"Can you run farther and faster than the people around you?"

"What's with all the questions? I'm fine, I-"

"These questions will allow me to treat you better. Your injuries are extensive and severe," at this, Dr. Grey pulled back the sheets on the bed to reveal the patient's legs. There was more bruised purple than pink across them, and large white patches hid what she guessed were open wounds. "and while your body is amazing at healing itself, there is still a very high chance that you could die without proper medical attention." Dr. Grey was stern, and her green eyes held an ardent intensity that was undeniable. "Now, please answer truthfully: do you feel that you are significantly different from what you think is physically normal?"

"Yes... I can run and run and not get tired," faced with the prospect of her death, she finally relented a bit. She would just have to take a chance with this woman, "and I eat constantly."

"I think that I know why that is." Dr. Grey settled on the small stool beside her bed.

"I know why... I know what I am," came the quiet but sure response. Clearly she was not ready or willing to say the word, the key to it all, the reason she felt she was really there. But Dr. Grey could see the understanding on her face.

"Right then. Well, your blood recycles at a remarkable rate, servicing your vital organs and tissues far more efficiently than normal. So when you were injured, your body began repairing itself extremely quickly. That's why you're even alive right now. Unfortunately, this gift comes at a price. In order to maintain your body's high level of metabolism, you require an extraordinary amount of nutrients. This also causes medications to practically run right through you, hence the frequent IV changes," between the mild medical jargon, the tight hair bun, and the black pencil skirt, Dr. Grey was a doctor in charge. Her demeanor did wonders for instilling confidence in her expertise.

"And that's why my heartbeat is so fast," it was a statement to herself just as much as a question to the doctor.

"Yes, in fact, you broke the first two heart monitors we hooked you up to. Each of the beeps you hear actually corresponds to twenty of your heartbeats." Dr. Grey's words made her mind race. She'd never been to a doctor before, a real doctor, one that could tell her what was happening inside her body. She couldn't dare go to a regular doctor, and the others... they were hardly there to help her. But all of these answers, why did this Dr. Grey have them?

"Who are you?" though not completely assured of her safety, she was focused now; there were some things she needed to figure out, to be sure of.

"As I said, I'm Dr.-"

"No. You know what I mean," she was looking Dr. Grey in the eye, trying to draw meaning from each of the doctor's movements. The two sat in near silence for more than a minute. They were at an impasse; neither could get what they wanted without giving valuable information in return.

Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep...

"This is a safe haven for mutants." Dr. Grey's crisp voice finally broke the silence, using the word that would forever define them both. When no response followed, the doctor continued, hoping that the two were reaching an understanding. "The emphasis here is on safety. You can benefit from this safety, but we need you to do something in return. The nature of this facility must remain...confidential. I can't tell you what you're getting into, but by continuing this conversation, you are agreeing to abide by this institution's code of secrecy. Do we have an understanding?" Dr. Grey's gaze was unwavering, and the gravity of the pact was evident.

As she sat upright in the bed, she contemplated her predicament. Was the doctor telling the truth? If it was the truth, then everything would change. There would be others, people like herself and maybe she wouldn't have to go it alone... And if it wasn't the truth, well, then it wouldn't be the first time. After having seen the state of her own body, there was no way that she would be able to brave whatever lay outside of that room anyway. Ultimately, she had no choice but to agree.

"My name is Izabel." And there it was, the beginning of the journey. "I'm from the West Coast, and I've been traveling for... a long time now," Izabel realized she had no idea what day it was. Actually, she wasn't quite sure of the month either.

"Is there anyone we can contact for you?"

"No, there's no one." Resignation dripped from her voice.

"Well, there are quite a few of us here that have nowhere else to go. Professor Xavier wanted to make a place where people like us could feel welcome, where we could thrive without fear for our lives. And there's a place for you here, if you want it." Dr. Grey's demeanor shifted back to that of a nurturing physician. She could tell that Izabel was feeling what most of their newcomers felt, the way that she had felt years ago.

"I prefer... to be on my own," Izabel replied after a bit of thought, though she wasn't sure she believed herself. She still had so many questions that she needed answers to.

"Even if you feel that this isn't the right place for you, as a doctor, I would ask that you at least stay with us until you're healed. If you need anything, there's a button on the side of your bed, but there will be someone in to change your IV rather often." Dr. Grey stood up, and checked the machines before giving Izabel a smile. Izabel looked up at her from the bed, but couldn't manage returning the small gesture. After a few seconds, Dr. Grey decided that the woman probably needed time alone to digest her situation. She made her way to the door, but stopped to add one last thing.

* * *

><p>"She's awake then, Jean?" the tall furry figure inquired as he peered from behind his spectacles. It was hard to believe that anyone made such smart suits for someone with as broad shoulders and thick limbs as his.<p>

"Yes, and I think she'll stay with us," Dr. Grey said. The two of them started down the hall away from the hospital room. "She's just amazing really."

"Did you feel anything from her?" the man adjusted his cuff links before reaching out for the file that Dr. Grey was handing to him.

"No, nothing, Hank. Usually when they come in, they are so confused that their powers manifest almost immediately. I'm beginning to think she might not have any projection powers."

"Intriguing. Either way, her body chemistry is simply fascinating. Have you begun testing the samples?" he said, his eyes scanning every inch of the file's contents as they continued on their way.

"Of course," Jean replied. The two entered an elevator at the end of the long, reflective hallway, the heavy metal doors sealing shut.

* * *

><p>She made her way to the door, but stopped to add one last thing.<p>

"No matter what you've been told, Izabel, your body is a superb machine," Jean stated as she rounded the doorway, "...very special." Then she was gone.


End file.
